Kiss The Lasses One Last Time
by Llinos
Summary: A story for Twelth Night - Or in Hobbit Culture - Last Yule! During the Quest the hobbits have to make do with something less than they are used to. Very mildly slashy - just experimental kissing.


A story for Twelth Night - Or in Hobbit Culture - Last Yule! During the Quest the hobbits have to make do with something less than they are used to.

**Kiss The Lasses One Last Time**

by **Llinos**  
beta **Marigold**

"Why are you collecting wood?" Boromir had come up behind Merry and Pippin so quietly that the two jumped with a guilty start and Pippin dropped the large log he had just managed to heft onto his shoulder. "Gandalf has already told us we can't risk a fire here and I consider it unlikely that you want to carry firewood five leagues to our next camp."

"Oh err… nothing… no reason," Merry floundered. "Just force of habit really."

"Besides," Pippin recovered quickly, "what if he changes his mind, you know, quite suddenly. Gandalf does that you know. Then we'd be ready for a good warm and maybe a roast bird or two."

"A roast bird or ten, Master Took," Boromir laughed. He had observed the hobbits' ability to tuck away food faster than he could shoot it.

"I know Boromir," Pippin heaved a great sigh and sat down on the log he had dropped. "What's the point in giving us food? We only eat it. Where's the point in collecting wood? We can't have a fire and that's that – it's all a waste of time."

"Come on Pip!" Merry patted his shoulder, attempting a watery smile. "Buck up! We were just trying to bring Frodo a bit of cheer."

"I know, you're right." Pippin brightened again and clambering up, attempted to haul the log after him, grunting and puffing with effort.

"May I help you?" Boromir lifted the great lump of wood, which Pippin was tugging at, causing the hobbit to sit down rather too abruptly when the weight was suddenly removed. "I'm so sorry!" Boromir, the log resting lightly over one shoulder, offered his other hand. "Perhaps I can assist you and your log."

"Oh the log doesn't need any assistance." Pippin took the proffered hand and was almost lifted off his feet as Boromir underestimated how much effort it would take to reinstate a small hobbit to a standing position. "My log will be fine!" Pippin wobbled unsteadily as he finally came to rest upon terra firma. "Unlike me, it doesn't mind being knocked down and thrown in the air."

"No, it's in no danger at all," Merry steadied his dizzy cousin. "We weren't going to burn it, we were just going to pretend."

"Pretend?" Boromir frowned. "What is the purpose of a make-believe fire? Especially going to all this effort."

"Well, you see," Merry looked slightly embarrassed as he began to explain. "Today is the 12th of Afteryule and in the Shire that is a big feast day."

"Oh a hobbit feast," Boromir had already been regaled with tales of various anniversaries, parties, festivities and celebrations that were a routine part of hobbit life, all of them involving vast quantities of food and drink. Indeed most of the accounts he had been told of these events tended to sound more like menus than stories. "You are missing your seasonal fare."

"It's not just the food!" Pippin tried to look affronted. "There's quite a lot of ale too!"

"And dancing!" Merry added, "and special songs we sing and, of course, the burning!"

"A bonfire you mean?" Boromir remembered Faramir and he dancing around the celebration fire at his grandfather's annual feast day in Dol Amroth, a happy time for both, unashamedly carefree, away from the watchful eye of their stern father.

"Yes!" Pippin's eyes lit up. "But it's called Yulefire and it's truly splendid! Not a little campfire for cooking on, but great conflagrations that can be seen from one end of the Shire to the other!"

"But we're not even allowed a tiny campfire here," Merry sighed. "So I think a real Yulefire is out of the question. We just thought we'd build one up – and well, you know, pretend. We could sing the songs at any rate and we don't have any Yule frills to burn anyway."

"Or lasses to kiss," Pippin nudged Merry with a sly wink.

"Lasses eh?" Boromir spotted the wink. "So that's what you're missing?"

"Well the main purpose is supposed to be burning the Yule decorations," Merry explained. "It's bad luck to keep them after the twelfth night has passed. The kissing is just incidental."

"Incidental!" Pippin snorted. "Merry Brandybuck, you're the first to haul the mistletoe down and the last to put it in the fire!"

"There are a lot of lasses that need kissing," Merry grinned up at Boromir, "and I'm always in great demand!"

"I can imagine," Boromir grinned back. "But what does mistletoe have to do with it?"

"Honestly Boromir," Pippin sighed his best exasperated sigh. "Do they know nothing of traditions in Gondor? During Yule, if a lass stands under the mistletoe, it's polite for a lad to kiss her."

"Is that why you spend the whole of Yule standing in the hallway where the biggest bunch of mistletoe and lasses are?" It was Merry's turn to smirk at his cousin now.

"You're not the only one in demand Merry," Pippin was proud of his latest score. "I got thirty two and a half kisses last Afteryule!"

"You do know you can't count your Mum," Merry said sternly. "And what's a half a kiss anyway?"

"That was my Mum," Pippin admitted. "It seemed a shame not to tally her in."

"And I bet you're including your sisters as well," Merry counted on his fingers, "so that's three away, which makes only twenty nine."

"Don't be ridiculous," Pippin put his hands on his hips defiantly, "my sisters wouldn't kiss me!"

"Well I got over fifty last Yule," Merry tried to look nonchalant as it did not seem gracious to brag about such things at his age. "I lost count after that."

"What? Over the whole of Yule?" Pippin snorted in derision. "And that's only because most of them have an eye to being Mistress of Brandy Hall one day!"

"Not at all," Merry looked affronted, "that was just at the Yulefire and as to your other comment, I am renowned for being the best kisser in Buckland!"

"Gentlemen, Gentlemen!" Boromir could hear the debate was becoming uncomfortably competitive. Perhaps another question would calm the heated discussion. "What does your Yulefire have to do with kissing?"

"When we burn all the Yule decorations," Pippin explained with an exaggerated air of patience. "Before we throw the mistletoe on, there's a rush to claim last Yule kisses. The lads pull down the mistletoe and chase the lasses with it."

"Yes," Merry agreed, "and Pippin has to run especially fast!"

"I do not!" Pippin's mouth dropped open in indignation. "I'm always in great demand too you know!"

"Because of being the Thain's son!" Merry retaliated.

"No, because I'm so kissable!" Pippin was not about to concede his desirability to the ladies, "I get kissed a lot and so I've learned how to kiss really well – I'm probably much better at kissing than you Merry, well for my age anyway."

"Twenty nine and a half isn't much!" Merry pointed out. "Besides, I expect half of those were elderly aunts."

"Thirty two and a half," Pippin reminded him. "And one was you!"

"Oh well, I wasn't counting that one," Merry beamed. "You can only count lasses. Also, having kissed you Pippin, I know that your technique still has a long way to go. It's not bad, but you need to work on it."

"Merry, that's not fair!" Pippin was getting exasperated now. "I've worked really hard at my kissing and I think I'm at least as good as you, if not better. Remember I know how you kiss too and you still have room for improvement."

"Nonsense!" Merry chortled at the very idea. "I could give lessons, in fact I have, to you in particular! Why, I was thinking of writing a book on the subject!"

Boromir had sat down on Pippin's log and was following the debate to and fro with great amusement. As if watching a tennis match, his head moved from side to side following the verbal volleys.

"We'll see, shall we?" Pippin, a determined look on his face, marched over to the man and, without preamble, grabbed his face with two hands and pressed his lips firmly onto Boromir's, pushing gently with his tongue until the bewildered man's mouth yielded to the pressure and an undeniable warmth spread through him from the long and lingering kiss.

Pippin finally pulled back and, relinquishing the man's surprised face, asked, "Well? What do you think Boromir?"

"Um… well… er thank you, I think," Boromir was uncharacteristically taken aback for a moment, but recovered swiftly. "I trust you do not kiss your aunts in that fashion. But I must say, it was quite delightful." He paused for a moment to glance at Merry, who also seemed surprised and possibly slightly annoyed.

"So," Boromir said, rising slowly from his seat. "I am to be the judge I take it." Not to be upstaged by the presumptuous hobbit, he walked over to Merry. Kneeling quickly to the hobbit's height, he wrapped one arm around his waist and, placing the other hand behind his head, drew him into a gentle kiss.

Merry had not expected this but was fast to reciprocate. He returned Boromir's embrace with passion and, although the beard was a new and interesting experience, soon sunk himself into an enthusiastic response, touching tongues lightly as they flickered over lips and then pressing their mouths firmly together. Boromir ran his hand gently through Merry's curls and he responded by twining his fingers in the man's long locks.

As they finally parted, it was Boromir who was left slightly breathless while Merry sported a triumphant grin.

"Well?" Boromir and Merry turned to see Pippin standing with defiantly folded arms. "What's the verdict?"

"It is difficult to judge." It suddenly occurred to Boromir that his own kissing technique might be called into question, especially if he did nothing to resolve the dispute. "But speaking as a connoisseur of the practice, I would say that Master Brandybuck is unquestionably the more experienced purveyor of kisses, although Master Took's rendition has a definite naïve charm about it and I am, without doubt, amused by his presumption!"

"Well there you are!" Merry exclaimed triumphantly.

"Exactly!" Pippin declared. "It's good to get these things sorted out early on. Boromir, you're very good at this you know."

"Thank you." Boromir breathed an inward sigh of relief, as both hobbits seemed to have regarded his judgement as a victory and honour was satisfied. "Shall we go and start this pretend Yulefire of yours now?"

"By all means," Pippin gathered up some smaller sticks and a few pieces of holly, together with a lonely sprig of mistletoe he had found. "I trust you'll kiss Frodo and Sam as well when we get back. You can't leave them out you know."

"And the others," Merry said firmly. "Nobody should be left out at Afteryule, so you'll need to kiss Legolas and Aragorn…"

"… and Gandalf!" Pippin added gleefully.

"I'm kissing Gimli first," Merry nonchalantly began gathering up the rest of his wood. "How about you Boromir?"

The Gondorian looked suspiciously from one hobbit to the other before realising, with great relief, that he was being teased. "Oh I'll just practise on Bill I think. He has such lovely eyes."

0-0-0-0-0

Gandalf did relent and the hobbits were allowed a tiny fire under some sheltering trees. All nine sat around the cosy heat and roasted pieces of meat as they listened to stories from long ago and tales of lasses they had kissed and dragons they had fought.

When the time for the burning came, the four hobbits, with unaccustomed propriety, but fitting the occasion, solemnly kissed each other under the mistletoe before it was consigned to the flames.

Then all the Fellowship danced and sang around the miniature Yulefire, the hobbits' voices raised in happiness, remembering feasts gone by and hoping for feasts yet to come.

**"Though Afteryule be cold and grey,  
No fiery stars to light our way,  
Burn brightly Yulefire through the night  
To herald in the Summer's light! **

**Quaff the ale and burn the berry,  
Hail the end of making merry!  
Dance round the fire with song and rhyme  
And kiss the lasses one last time!" **

The End


End file.
